Our soul should murmur, or our dust repine?
And one, in their eternal war, must bleed.
If one must suffer, which should least be spared?
The pains of mind surpass the pains of sense:
Ask, then, the gout, what torment is in guilt.
The joys of sense to mental joys are mean: 860
Sense on the present only feeds; the soul
On past, and future, forages for joy.
’Tis hers, by retrospect, through time to range;
And forward time’s great sequel to survey.